


Eight (Candle)Nights

by TheZpart



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Candlenights, F/M, Family, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Found Family, Hanukkah, Heartwarming, Jewish, M/M, More ships/characters to be tagged as I write, and then a little, is the taz cosmology completely incompatible with judaism? yes. will that stop me? no, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:41:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21907633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheZpart/pseuds/TheZpart
Summary: Eight Hanukkah ficlets to be posted on each night of Hannukah.Taako and Lup fight over latke toppings, Mookie is trusted with fire, Lucreita gets a second shot at family, and more!
Relationships: Barry Bluejeans/Lup, Bureau of Balance & IPRE Crew | Starblaster Crew, Merle Highchurch & Mavis & Mookie, Probably more!
Comments: 36
Kudos: 49





	1. Night 1: Latkes and Loathing

The Starblaster kitchen was filled with simmering oil and simmering tension. It was all to do with the latkes. Taako and Lup were making them, as they did every year, and every year, they were about to have a big old fight. 

Everyone could feel the antagonism. It wafted in with the scent of frying potatoes, creeping under the door to Barry’s lab, drifting up to the deck where Merle and Davenport played cards, and even out to the surrounding countryside, where Magnus was helping Lucretia take notes on the local flora. It smelled damn good, and it made them all nervous. 

Taako and Lup’s palates broadly overlapped, but they had one fundamental point of disagreement: the proper topping for latkes. Every year, for as long as they’d all been on the Starblaster and presumably since long before then, Lup went out to pick or buy whatever passed for apples on a given planet, and cooked them down with cinnamon and allspice and a tiny bit of sugar. Taako found the local dairy product of choice and mixed it with vinegar, leaving it to stand on the counter for a full twenty-four hours before declaring it sour cream. They did not collaborate. Instead, they seemed to pretend not to notice what the other was doing until they absolutely had to acknowledge it.

Finally, Taako and Lup called the whole crew in to dinner. They’d prepared a mountain of latkes, crisp and brown and steaming. Magnus’s stomach growled audibly.

Lup turned to him with a sharp smile, doling out three latkes with a spatula. “Here’s some applesauce to go on those,” Lup said, her voice all fake sugar. She reached for the spoon sticking out of her jar.

Taako caught her wrist. “Don’t be silly, Lulu,” he said, matching her false sweetness inch for inch. “I’m sure Magnus wants some of _my_ sour cream.”

“And why,” Lup said, “would you think that? Why would _anyone_ want to put _more fat_ on their already-super-oily latkes when they could have something sweet that cuts through the oil? It’s called complexity of flavor, babe, look it up.”

Taako scoffed. “Are you kidding me with this? _Your_ watery-ass applesauce is going to ruin _my_ perfectly crispy latkes.”

“Oh, they’re _your_ latkes now, are they? I got a fucking _burn_ because you had the oil on too hot but _now_ they’re _your_ latkes?”

Taako opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Magnus cut in, “Actually, I’d like a bit of both, if you two wouldn’t mind.”

The twins shot him murderous looks, but they gave him a dollop of each. Then, Lup turned on Barry.

“Barold?”

“Just applesauce for me, thanks. Sorry, Taako, but the lactose. You know.”

Taako was about to say something clever and cutting about the last time he’d found Barry eating ice cream straight out of the container at one in the morning, but then he paused. Of course this was not about lactose; it was about Barry’s painful crush on his sister. Here were two of Taako’s main interests in conflict: to show up Lup at every opportunity, or to _finally_ get Lup and Barry’s oblivious asses together. Kindness won out, and Taako didn’t even glare at Barry as he turned to Davenport.

“You want sour cream, right?”

“I do,” Davenport conceded, holding up his plate. “Lup, you know my thing with fiber.”

“Gross,” said Lup. “Let’s not get into it.”

“I’ll have mine plain,” said Lucretia, not looking at any of them.

Lup patted her lightly on the shoulder. Someday, Lucretia was going to have to learn not to be so conflict-averse, but this didn’t seem to be the moment to get into it.

So far, everyone’s answers had been predictable, and had done nothing to defuse the tension still crackling between the twins. Finally, they turned to Merle, the perpetual wildcard. Lup planted a hand on the table and leaned toward him, Taako at her shoulder, matching smiles dangerous as knives. “So, Merle,” she said. “Applesauce or sour cream?”

Merle hummed pleasantly, not seeming to notice the danger he was in. “You two have any ketchup?”

Taako and Lup stumbled back, Taako actually clutching at his chest in shock. “ _Ketchup?_ ” they repeated in horrified unison.

Merle shrugged. “They’re basically just hash browns, right?”

“Taako,” Lup said, “did you hear what he just called our latkes?”

“I wish I hadn’t.” Taako linked his arm with Lup’s, like he needed her support to stay standing.

“There’s ketchup in the fridge,” Davenport said, helpfully.

Taako added, “But you have to go get it yourself, you _monster_.”

“Absolute monster,” Lup agreed. “Come on, babe, let’s get ourselves some real food.”

As Merle slid from his chair and headed for the kitchen, Magnus noticed a smug smile on his face, like he’d known exactly what he was doing all along.


	2. Night 2: Menorah Mayhem

Mookie was ten, and finally old enough to light his own Hannukah candles.

He was still kind of mad that Mavis had been allowed to start lighting candles at eight years old. Just because she was “responsible” and “mature” and “didn’t try to stick her hand in an open flame literally last week, _Mookie_ ” didn’t mean she should get special privileges that he didn’t have. But whatever! The past was the past! This was finally, finally his year!

He hadn’t lit candles last night, because his parents had decided to give him his own menorah as a present on the first night. He’d torn it open, as he tore open every present, to reveal a really lovely oak menorah that had clearly been carved by Uncle Magnus. It had carvings of little bugs on it, and Mookie _loved_ it.

(As he unwrapped it, he’d heard his dad whisper, “It’s just three candles, Hec, what’s the worst that could happen?” And his mother had sighed heavily and said, “I wish you hadn’t just said that).

And now, tonight, his mom was helping him melt the bottoms of two candles into the candle holders. He’d been allowed to pick the colors from the box, and had chosen an pink one and a yellow one, with a purple candle for the shamash lying on the table beside him. He wasn’t ever going to repeat colors if he could help it.

His mother moved to the big metal family menorah, and lit the shamash. She passed the flame to Mavis, who was sitting behind her own ceramic menorah, painted in delicate blue and green flowers. All the candles she’d chosen were green, too. Boring.

She reached across the table, touching her candle to Mookie’s and transferring the flame to him. His parents said the blessings, with Mavis singing along. Mookie prodded at the end of his candle, trying to see if he could get wax to cover his fingernail. At the beginning of the second blessing, his mom and Mavis both started to light their other candles, and he hurried to do the same. The second one wouldn’t catch, and he had to light it three times before it the flame held. Then, his dad moved beside him and held his hand as he touched the end of the shamash to the other candle flames, to make the wax all melty so it would stand up straight. Mookie didn’t _need_ his dad’s help, but he didn’t whine about it, so they wouldn’t take his candles away.

“Remember,” his mom said to him, when the praying part was over, “you promised to be super careful around the candles.”

“I know,” Mookie said. “I will be. Can I open a present now?” And his dad chuckled and handed him a gift.

“ _Mookie_!” his mother screamed, not five minutes later, and Mookie looked up from where he was playing with his new toy battlewagon.

“What?”

“ _The ribbon is on fire!_ ”

Mookie looked over at his menorah. The ribbon from his present was poking into the flame of the candle, just a little bit. It was smoldering, but it wasn’t _on fire_. There was no need to scream about it, certainly. He pulled it away from the flame and blew it out.

Mookie’s dad clapped his hands together. “Let’s play some dreidel!” he said. 

Mookie immediately abandoned his battlewagon, which he had been making explode, and scooted closer to his dad. His mom at down tiredly beside them.

“Mavis?” His dad said. “Want to join us?”

Mavis put down her book with a roll of her eyes. “Okay.”

Mookie’s mom passed out the chocolate gelt—four pieces each, to start off with—and had them each put one piece back in the pot. His dad pulled a dreidel out from behind Mavis’s ear, making her laugh for real. He offered it to her.

Mavis spun first, getting a nun and making a face before passing it on to their mother. She spun a hey, taking two of the four coins in the pot. His dad spun a shin, and said a word Mookie would get in trouble for saying, adding two of his own coins to the pot.

Then, it was Mookie’s turn.

Mookie was only recently dexterous enough to spin a dreidel, and he still didn’t do it perfectly every time. This was one of those less-than-perfect times. He got it at just the wrong angle, and it went skidding across the table. Mookie dived for it, trying to catch it before it hit the floor. He threw himself onto the table, hand outstretched, knocking one menorah with each shoulder and the third with the crown of his head. The big metal one crashed to the floor. His own menorah flipped onto his arm, catching the fabric of his sweater.

His dad swore again. Mavis shrieked and threw her glass of water at him, splashing him across the face, nowhere near the fire.

His mother hailed him back by the neck of his sweater, and patted his arm out. “No more candles for you, young man!” she was saying. She was actually mid-lecture, but Mookie wasn’t paying any attention. The dreidel was clutched safely in his hand, and when he looked, he found he’d rolled a nat gimel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! I forgot to say this on the last chapter, but I know not everyone reading this is Jewish, and I know not all of us Jewish people come from exactly the same traditions, so if there's anything that doesn't make sense, feel free to ask me about it in the comments!


	3. Night 3: In the Window

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet is set in the world of my big AU, Touché. Basically, Lup's a senior in high school, Barry's a freshman in college, and they met in a fencing class that everyone else also takes. Barry's Jewish, Lup isn't. They are deep in the pining part of their relationship right now. I think everything else is pretty self explanatory!

“Thanks for coming over,” Barry said, meeting Lup in the lobby of his dorm building.

“Thanks for inviting me!” Lup breezed inside, rubbing her hands together in the sudden warmth. “Sorry the guys couldn’t make it. They say Happy Hannukah. Actually, Taako says ‘Happy Chanukah,’ with a ch sound, not a kh. He was very specific about it.”

Barry laughed. “That sounds like Taako.”

“Yup. So, you live here?”

“I do.” Barry glanced around at the neutrally beige walls, the tan and blue chairs with their cracking seats. “I know it’s boring. I didn’t decorate it.”

Lup snorted.

“My dorm’s up on the third floor,” he said, heading for the elevator. “It’s also boring, but I did decorate it, so you can judge me for it.”

Lup clutched her chest. “I would never!” she said, her voice mock-offended. “Is everything upholstered in denim?”

“Nah, they didn’t let me pick the upholstery. My lampshade is denim, though.”

“You’re joking.”

“Well, denim print. You know.”

“You’re a treasure, Bluejeans,” Lup said, hitting him lightly on the arm.

The elevator dinged open to the third floor, and Barry ducked through before she could see him blush.

Barry’s dorm room was empty, his roommate staying over with his boyfriend as usual. It was something close to clean, too—all the laundry was in the hamper, at least, even if an abandoned hot pocket wrapper still lay on top of the microwave.

Lup picked it up. “You eat this shit?”

“Only when I forget to have dinner until after the cafeteria’s closed.”

“You’re a fucking disaster, you know that?”

“I haven’t died yet!”

“Yeah, keyword ‘yet.’”

Lup poked around Barry’s room, teasing him for his lampshade and his nerdy posters and the sheer volume of sticky notes poking out of his Biology textbook, while he pulled his little travel menorah and a handful of candles from the bottom of his wardrobe.

“These are illegal, you know. No candles in the dorms.”

“I can’t believe you would break the law, Barold,” Lup said delightedly.

“I have hidden depths.”

“I’ll say. Why are you opening the window? It’s fucking freezing!”

“I’m hoping if I put the menorah here,” Barry said, setting it on the windowsill, “it won’t make the fire alarm go off.”

Lup laughed. “I’m so here for any tradition that risks the fire alarm.”

Barry grinned back at her. It was unavoidable—her laughter made him so happy. It was stupid, but also true.

“Okay.” Barry finished straightening the candles. “Here we go.”

He sang through the blessings, inwardly cringing at his scratchy, tuneless voice, but Lup didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she was watching him closely, a curious expression on her face. He wondered what she thought of all this, if that expression was polite bafflement or genuine interest or something else.

He lit the shamash and the first candle, and then handed her the shamash so she could light the other two. Her face looked softer than usual, bathed in candlelight. She passed him the shamash back, and their fingers touched around the candle. She let go, quickly, and looked away. He hurriedly turned his attention to melting the candle into its proper place.

Lup tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I, uh, I got you a present. That’s what you do, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, you didn’t have to, but—“

“It’s not much, but,” she pulled a small wrapped package from her purse, “here you go.”

Barry opened it carefully, not tearing the silver paper. Inside was a dark red cloth belt, the kind with two rings at the end. It was embroidered with green and black mushrooms. “Shit, Lup,” Barry said. “Did you make this?”

“Yeah. Do you—what do you think?”

“It’s amazing! Holy fuck, look at all the detail!” He held it close to his face, to see all her tiny stitches. “I got you something too, but it’s nowhere as cool as this!”

Lup laughed, glancing down at her knees.

Barry got up and pulled a gift bag out from under his desk. “Merry Christmas.”

“Shucks, babe.” Lup tore the tissue paper from the top of the bag, and lifted out a little wire carrier with three black bottles in it. “Oh my God, are these fancy oils?”

“Yeah, technically they’re for you and Taako both. But. Yeah.”

She took them out of their carrier and read each label aloud. “Hot chili, orange, basil—Bar, these are fantastic!”

“I thought you might like them.”

“Are you kidding? I fucking love them! I can never get my grandpa to buy us shit like this.” She looped her arm through Barry’s. “You know me so well.”

“Yeah,” Barry said. He couldn’t say anything else.

Lup laid her chin on his shoulder, and he tilted his head so his cheek was touching the top of her head. They sat like that for a long while, not talking, just watching the candles burn down in the windowsill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want more of teen!Lup and Barry (and more!), you can find their story here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20207920/chapters/47885338


	4. Night 4: The Meaning of Hannukah

It was a rare quiet evening on the Starblaster, with the Light of Creation glowing in Barry’s lab and the Hannukah candles glowing in the common room. Lup and Barry were sprawled together on one sofa—he was asleep, and she was nearly sleeping, too, eyelids sliding down before snapping back open. Merle and Davenport were talking quietly on the other sofa. Lucretia, Taako, and Magnus were crosslegged on the floor, a recently-abandoned dreidel laying between them. Lucretia was writing in her new journal, a gift from Barry, while Taako tried to flip chocolate coins into Magnus’s mouth. It was tranquil, and familial, and if anyone had been thinking about it, they would have known it couldn’t last.

“But it’s not real!” Davenport snapped, loud enough for everyone but Barry to snap to attention.

“Why does that matter?” Merle said.

“Because—because it’s not real! You can’t base a whole holiday on something made up!”

“That’s faith, man.”

“No, it’s not. If you want to say to me, for instance, that God parted the Red Sea back in the day, _that_ would be based in faith. But the miracle of the oil is just made up by Rabbis who were uncomfortable celebrating a military victory.”

“Can ya blame them? Murder’s a much worse thing to base a holiday around than a good damn story. Besides, it’s un-Jewish.”

“Un-Jewish? Tell me, Merle, exactly how the _actual origin_ of a _Jewish holiday_ is un-Jewish.”

Merle hummed, turning himself on the couch to face Davenport more directly. “Okay,” he said. “Take your Red Sea example. We aren’t supposed to rejoice at the death of the Fantasy Egyptians, even though they were actively trying to kill us. The voice of fuckin’ God came down to tell us to cut that shit when we tried. How were the Fantasy Greeks so much worse, that we should celebrate their deaths?”

“That’s not the point,” Davenport said, sputtering a little. “The _point_ is resisting assimilation, retaining our identity in the face of overwhelming odds! Shit _we_ are dealing with every day when we fight the Hunger. We stay alive every day because we fight back, and that’s what Hannukah means.”

Merle inclined his head as if giving Davenport a point. “Sure, but why are we fighting?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t we just give up? The odds are, as you said, overwhelming. There’s fuckin’ seven of us, and the Hunger has how many planets at this point? So why are we still fighting?”

“Because—”

“Because we have _hope!”_ Merle slammed his fist down on the arm of the couch, finally shaking Barry from sleep. “Because we believe, despite the odds, that if we try, the universe will bend to help us. _That’s_ what Hannukah means. It’s the light in the goddamn darkness.”

“But it’s _made up_ ,” Davenport said. “Are you saying our hope is based on a lie?”

“I’m saying that stories are powerful. It doesn’t matter if it happened, it matters what we take from it.”

“The Maccabees are a story, too. Why aren’t they worth celebrating?”

“We shouldn’t—”

“Oh my God,” Taako groaned. “The meaning of Hannukah is eating fried foods and chocolate, okay? Don’t keep fucking going in circles.”

Magnus cracked up, and Davenport, in a display of most un-captian-like behavior, threw a pillow at Taako, and the discussion moved on.

But years later, when they started to hear their last stand called The Day of Story and Song, Merle elbowed Davenport in the ribs.

“The power of story,” he said.

“The power of resisting,” Davenport replied, and they fell back into the old argument like a comfortable old blanket, both quietly relieved that they still fit.


	5. Night 5: The Hammer

They hid from the Hunger in the mountains, in caves and hidden glens. They drank from streams and ate what they could hunt or forage, or sometimes food left for them by the people in the villages who thought that the Hunger was wrong, too. 

There were fewer of such people every day. Who could hold out against the might of the Hunger, headed by the powerful, charismatic John Antiochus. The war was lost before it had begun. The sacred places had been filled with idols and pig shit, the people forcibly assimilated, given new names and languages and gods. There were soldiers on every street corner. Even if one was killed, they would be replaced the next day. The Hunger had a seemingly infinite number of troops, and didn’t seem to mind throwing them away for the sake of its conquest. 

But still, there were those who fought back. A family in everything but blood, they refused the seemingly inevitable assimilation. Cutting supply lines and making sneak attacks at night, fleeing and hiding when the Hunger’s soldiers sought them, they waged a guerrilla war against their foe. The Hunger propagandists called it cowardice, but the people knew it was bravery. 

They knew the fighters, too, had known them since before the occupation. Captain Davenport, the leader of the rebels and a brilliant strategist; wise and kind Rabbi Merle Highshul; the twins Lup and Taako, orphans taken in by the community who had become its fiercest defenders; yeshiva student Lucretia, torn from her studies by the winds of injustice; stalwart, brilliant Barry drawn to fight for the love of his people; and the rebels’ strongest fighter, Magnus “The Hammer” Burnsides, who was rumored to have never lost a fight. 

Magnus was also the most popular of the rebels. Whenever it was safe (and sometimes when it wasn’t), he would hike down to the villages’ taverns and drink wine with the locals. He laughed loudly and was over-generous with his coin, and the people loved him. Indeed, The Hammer was so popular that he became the face of the rebels, and they were known by his moniker—they were the Hammers. 

This went on for years. Fight by painful fight, retreat by fearful retreat, the Hammers held on for years, and true to their name, they caused a lot of trouble for their size. And, eventually, the unthinkable happened. John Antiochus called for a parley. 

Rabbi Merle went to meet him, and to his surprise, John told him the truth. The Hammers’ resistance was expensive, and John had an empire to run. So, his troops would retreat, and the land, he said grudgingly, would belong to its people once again. 

Rabbi Merle brought this news to the people, who were overjoyed. There was weeping and laughter and prayer. The temple was re-dedicated, and the people cheered for their liberators, for the Hammers, in their own language which they were once again allowed to speak. 

They cheered for the Maccabees. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: This is a pretty serious and potentially contentious chapter, so I should approach it carefully 
> 
> Also me: Merle Highshul :)


	6. Night 6: Get Lit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is also set in the world of my fencing AU! Angus is also Jewish, and in middle school. Taako's not Jewish and a senior in high school. I think the rest of it should make sense

“Sir?” Angus said to Taako as they were putting away their gear. “I was wondering if I could ask you a favor?”

“What’re you up to, little man?”

“Well, okay, so my Hebrew school does this menorah-making competition every year, and I won two years ago but last year Leah Rosenbaum won, even though my menorah was more technically impressive, because hers was more _extra_.”

Taako zipped up his fencing bag with finality. “I see. Well in that case, you’ve come to the right place. Taako’s all about extra.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say, sir!”

“When is this menorah due?”

“Sunday morning.”

“And do you have cash for supplies?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Sick. Meet me after school tomorrow. We’re going to Michael’s!”

“So,” Taako said, “what are the rules for this thing? There’s always rules for shit like this.”

They were standing in the fake flower aisle at Michael’s. Taako had a blue rose in his hand, and he was using it to punctuate his statements. When he’d said “rules” the second time, he’d hit Angus in the forehead (just lightly) with it.

“It has to be able to hold all nine candles,” Angus said, standing up straight like this was some kind of recitation. “We have to be able to actually light them without the whole thing burning down—and that’s it.”

Taako hummed. “I think we can stick to those parameters. Go get me a cart. And if you pass the chicken wire on the way back, snag a couple rolls of that, too.”

“You got it, sir!”

They browsed the aisles together, throwing anything that had potential into their cart. “Why didn’t you win last year, D’jangus?” Taako asked. “You’re all smart and shit.”

Angus sighed with the world-weariness of a much older person. “I made my menorah out of a block of ice,” he explained. “It was really complicated to figure out how to freeze something in the right shape—I ended up using one of those sandcastle mold things and boring holes in it—and then transporting it and making sure it lasted long enough… but Leah’s was all covered in, like, doll furniture and shit, and people thought it was prettier.”

“Hey,” Taako said, “don’t fucking swear.”

Angus rolled his eyes, and Taako laughed.

“I’m just kidding, kiddo.”

“I know, sir.”

Hours later, Taako and Angus shoved their purchases onto a city bus headed for Taako’s neighborhood. The supplies in their plastic bags included, but were not limited to, chicken wire, puffy paint, yarn, three different colors of ribbon, self-drying clay, two unfinished wooden crates, seven colors of glitter, nine glass bottles, pipe cleaners, and several boxes of sparklers that had been in the clearance section since last summer and probably didn’t even work. They’d also gotten the blue fabric rose, not because it was useful for the menorah, but because Taako had gotten attached to it.

Taako let them into his house and dumped their purchases on the kitchen table.

Angus said, “We have to work quickly, sir. My grandpa’s coming to pick me up in two hours.”

“Ye of little faith,” Taako said, waving his hand dismissively. “Let’s do some magic.”

Angus and Taako stood back, admiring their masterpiece. “That’s gonna win for sure!” Angus said. “But—how do we get it to my grandpa’s car?”

Taako stuck his head into the living room, where Lup was doing homework. “Lup, I need your arms!”

“What? Why?”

“Do you expect me to lift this all by myself?”

“Make Ango help you.”

Angus piped up, “But I’m just a little boy, ma’am!”

“Yeah, Lup, he’s just a little boy!”

Lup groaned. “Ugh, fine. You two know that’s gonna blow up, right?”

Angus said, “I ran the math, and the probability is against anything exploding!”

Lup made a dubious noise, but picked up one end of the menorah. Taako took the other, and they carried it out of the house and into the backseat of Angus’s grandpa’s car, bucking it in with both seatbelts.

Taako and Angus bumped fists. “If you don’t send me a picture of what this fucker looks like lit up,” Taako said, “I _will_ end you.”

“Understood, sir! Bye, Miss Lup!”

“Bye, Ango,” Lup said, giving him a one-armed hug.

Angus climbed into the passenger seat of the car.

“Don’t lose!” Taako called as it pulled away.

Lup wrapped an arm around his waist. “Dork.”

“Don’t talk to me. It’s too fuckin cold out here.”

The next morning, Taako was awoken at nine am, much earlier than he wanted to be, by a text from Angus. He’d sent two photos, the first a blurry picture of their menorah _very_ on fire (those sparklers had worked after all), the second a selfie of Angus’s grinning, soot-smeared face. Another text came in. _I’m banned from the competition next year, but everyone says I should have won! Thank you, sir_

Taako laughed. He turned over to go back to sleep, but not before replying, _u got it, mcdangus. happy hannukah_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want more of teen!Taako and baby Ango (and more!), you can find their story here: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/20207920/chapters/47885338


	7. Night 7: New Moon (Base)

Lucretia leaned on the railing of her newly-minted moon base, staring down at the lights of the world below. More lights than usual. She was trying not to think about it.

All the holidays had been hard since she’d lost—broken—her family, but every year before this one, she’d been able to ignore it. She kept her nose to the grindstone, kept her head on a swivel, kept her ear to the ground, kept working on finding the relics, finding a way to destroy them, building an organization that wouldn’t be corrupted by the relics’ thrall. If she worked, she didn’t have to feel.

Her work was far from over, but it was unfair to expect that her new subordinates wouldn’t celebrate the holiday. They were having a Hannukah party in the cafeteria right now, and because there was only so much she could get done without her organization’s help, she was taking a break, too.

Taking a break. Not moping.

“Director!” Killian’s voice came booming across the quadrangle.

Lucretia didn’t jump, because Madam Director was too refined to jump. Instead, she calmly turned and said, “Good evening, Killian.”

Killian came jogging up to her. “Why’re you out here all by yourself?”

“I didn’t want to bring the party down,” Lucretia said. “Everyone will have more fun without their boss looking over their shoulders.”

“Don’t be silly,” Killian said. “People are wondering where you are.”

And so she had to go.

The cafeteria smelled like like sugar and oil. Here on this single-suned world, they didn’t make latkes to celebrate the miracle of the oil. Instead, they made donuts filled with jam, called sufganyiot—but the intent was the same. Fried foods to commemorate a miracle, and to make you full and happy in the middle of the winter. Lucretia was glad the traditions were different here. She couldn’t have handled too many reminders of the life she used to have.

The tables had all been pushed to the side to clear a dance floor—Killian ran to Carey, who was waving her over. Johann was playing his heart out next to a lit menorah. People danced or sat in groups to chat and eat sufganyiot. Several reclaimers were gathered around a stone of farspeech that was projecting Boyland’s voice—he’d gone home to his family for the holiday, but he still found a way to come to the party.

Lucretia snagged a doughnut and found a chair near the edge of the festivities, contenting herself with watching their fun (and trying to keep powdered sugar off her regalia). It was nice to see how well they all got along, to see that they were becoming a family, even if it wasn’t a family she could be a part of. She’d long since lost that privilege.

Avi collapsed into a chair next to her. “Director!” he said. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

It was word-for-word what Merle used to ask her, before she’d learned how to be silly in front of other people. “I’m not a big dancer,” she said.

“Can I get you a glass of wine, then? Or some brandy? You don’t look like you’re having any fun.”

Was it that obvious? “I’d love a glass of wine.”

“You got it!” He leaped back to his feet and started edging around the crowd. Moments later, he returned with two glasses of wine, plus Carey, Killian, Brian, the stone of farspeech with Boyland’s voice on it, and Johann, who had passed his violin on to an enthusiastic amateur, who was usually a seeker. They all pulled chairs around to make a little circle (except Boyland, who was set on a table).

Lucretia was completely taken aback. “You don’t—you don’t have to—”

“Don’t be silly,” Killian said again. “Brian, did I tell you what my sister got me for Hannukah? Because it’s fucking wild.”

Brian said, “No!” and braced his elbows on his knees to lean forward in a way that reminded Lucretia of Taako, and also didn’t, and Killian told a story that made everyone laugh, and Avi told a story that her story had reminded him of, and on and on.

Lucretia sat back and listened, sipping her wine. Maybe, she thought, it wasn’t too late for her to have a family after all.


	8. Night 8: Home for the Holidays

It was the first Hannukah after the Day of Story and Song, and everything had changed.

Some of the changes were positive. If the crew of the Starblaster had been a family, they were bigger then ever. Who could imagine Hannukah without Kravitz, Angus, Carey and Killian, Avi, Ren, or Mavis and Mookie? More love was always a good thing.

But.

But Taako still wasn’t talking to Lucretia. But Davenport panicked when he forgot where he put his keys. But Magnus had built a new family in this world and seen it destroyed. But Lup couldn’t stand enclosed spaces. But Barry sometimes looked at Magnus and heard him say, _you’re one of the bad guys._

They were all traumatized. The whole world was traumatized. And having won, having _earned_ a happy ending, didn’t really make it easer.

The former crew of the Starblaster were together again—they wouldn’t have to make doalone in this new world, with all its traditions shifted slightly away from what they knew. They wouldn’t have to be alone. And yet, it couldn’t be the same as the cozy-slash-hectic holidays they’d shared during their hundred year journey. Those hadn’t all been fun—too many of them had been spent missing a fallen friend or two—but there had been a security to them. They were a family, then. Were they still a family now?

Predictably, it was Magnus who was the first to say, _fuck that_ , and invite everyone over for a Hannukah party. He didn’t really have a place to invite everyone _to_ —it had only been a couple of months since the Bureau of Balance had disbanded, and everyone was still trying to figure out the logistics—but hell, the moon base was basically abandoned and the cannon balls all still worked, so!

And, well, who was going to say no to Magnus? For a grown ass man, the guy had puppy dog eyes like nobody’s business.

So, on the last night of Hannukah, the Starblaster crew _et al_ assembled on the moon base. At first, it was awkward. Nothing creates more tension than the expectation of intimacy. But then Barry unearthed their old phonograph and put on a record, and Taako, Lup, and Ren brought out piles of food from their new and old worlds, latkes and sufganyiot both. Avi passed around the bottles of brandy he’d left in his old room. Merle made everyone dance with him, making a big show of embarrassing Mavis with his antics. Mavis, for her part, was delighted to find a kindred spirit in Angus, and after dinner and candles and presents, they found a spot outside on the grass to talk about books and the nonsense grownups pulled under the stars.

Mookie ran shrieking through the party with a streamer he’d pulled from the wall, weaving between and around adult legs. Magnus, who had been full of fake cheer when everyone arrived, gradually relaxed and started laughing genuinely. The twins danced with each other, with their partners, with their friends.Carey, Killian, and Merle swapped embarrassing stories about Lucretia as she sat nearby, growing redder and redder.Kravitz and Davenport began a game of chess and almost immediately stopped noticing anything around them.

And Lucretia stood near Taako, not with him, just nearby, and said, “These latkes are amazing. I haven’t had a good latke since we got to this world.”

“Well, all the cooks on this planet fucking suck,” Taako said. It wasn’t kind. It wasn’t a conversation. But it was something, an indication that maybe, someday, things could be better between them.

They all passed out in the old dorm building, and went home the next morning tired but cheerful, more cheerful than they’d been in ages.

It was as good as any of their Hannukahs about the Starblaster. No, it was better, because back then they were wandering, running away. Now, they were home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! It's been so fun to write these and see everyone's responses. I love yall. Happy Hannukah and Happy New Year!
> 
> (And stay tuned this April when I WILL be writing Passover taz fic)


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